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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390617">The Great Elemmírë.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, That one scene in the throne room, The Hobbit AU, Thorin!Roger, Thranduil!Freddie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:54:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Mercuriel stares back, eyes dark and unreadable. Much as Rothgar's trying not to think about it, he can’t help but note how little the elf has changed since the last time they met. A crown hasn’t altered his graceful, otherworldly demeanour. Nor has it eaten away at his dark locks and angular cheekbones.    </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>“Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand...” begins Mercuriel. His voice is warm and silky, exuding an air of casual indifference even while he sits poised on his throne like a cat. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>No, the former Crown Prince has not changed at all.<em></em></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em><br/>    <em>Thorin!Roger encounters Thranduil!Freddie. They come to an arrangement of sorts.</em></em><br/>  </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Great Elemmírë.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/emma_and_orlando/gifts">emma_and_orlando</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm publishing this anonymously because even writing this, the most vaguest of sexual content, I was blushing like a complete idiot, but most of you will probably know who I am 😅 And emmaandorlando will <em>definitely<em> know who I am, and that's what counts xx</em></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em><br/>    <em>Speaking of emmaandorlando, did you know she's an absolute sweetheart who deserves the whole entire world? 💖 xx Merry Christmas gekkie, I love you absolutely to pieces and everyday I'm so grateful to have you in my life. Ik hoop dat je van dit verhaal geniet. ik hou van je xx !! </em><br/>  </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em><br/>    <em>Oh, and thanks to nastally for beta-reading, and Plaintxe for the Sindarin lesson ;)</em></em><br/>  </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s so perversely unfair. Had this not happened, they would have reached the foot of the mountain long ago. Rothgar should be gazing upon the treasures of his kin, restored to his rightful position as King Under the Mountain. But no, instead it is him who is gazed upon. Clapped in irons and trapped under the dark eye of Mercuriel, the great Elemmírë. Ruler of the Woodland Realm. </p>
<p>Were the situation not so dire, Rothgar would be openly laughing. Some ruler indeed. Presiding over a dark patch of woodland overrun with spiders hardly makes one a king. But the thought of Crystal and Deaks and Dom, and the rest of his kin trapped like rats in the cells, and of his beloved burglar Brimi (who no one has seen in days), stays his tongue.</p>
<p>So he remains silent. Watching his captor even as Mercuriel stares back, eyes dark and unreadable. Much as he’s trying not to think about it, he can’t help but note how little the elf has changed since the last time they met. A crown hasn’t altered his graceful, otherworldly demeanour. Nor has it eaten away at his dark locks and angular cheekbones.    </p>
<p>“Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand...” begins Mercuriel. His voice is warm and silky, exuding an air of casual indifference even while he sits poised on his throne like a cat. </p>
<p>No, the former Crown Prince has not changed at all.</p>
<p>Rothgar had been little more than a stripling at the time. Joyful and naive, second in line to the throne, with barely the faintest hint of scruff on his chin. From his place at his grandfather’s side he had watched in awe as the entourage of Mirkwood elves had arrived, desperately trying to stir the feelings of cautious dislike he’d been taught to hold for the elven race all his life, but instead only finding his curiosity ignited. The grace and poise with which the elves had seemingly glided into their hall had been utterly striking, and none more so than the Crown Prince himself. </p>
<p>Young as he was, Mercuriel already possessed effortless charisma. Cheerful and dignified and poetic, he’d seemed, at least to Rothgar, a born monarch. </p>
<p>From his place at his grandfather’s side the dwarf prince had stared, nearly bolting when the elf had suddenly fixed him with a steadfast gaze. Mercuriel had observed him for a moment, then inclined his head, the corners of his mouth tugging into the faintest hint of what could only be described as a smirk.  </p>
<p>To this day Rothgar would rather die than admit that the look had turned his knees weak. That the thought of it still does. </p>
<p>Cursing himself he tries to steel his mind against the memory. Wandering hands in dark corners. Stolen moments where the possibility of being caught only added to the thrill of the adventure. Unspeakable things whispered in the dead of the night. </p>
<p>Aklâf! What a foolish summer child he had been. In allowing the elf to seduce him he’d shown unforgivable weakness. He clenches his fists. Rest assured, he won’t make the same mistake twice. </p>
<p>However, if Mercuriel remembers, he’s given no indication, “A quest to reclaim a homeland…” he continues, “and slay a dragon” </p>
<p>He slides elegantly off his throne. The ever so subtle sway in his hips as he makes his way across the room is just visible to Rothgar through the sheer fabric of his sleek robes.  </p>
<p>“I myself suspect a more prosaic motive.” He stops in front of Rothgar, leaning over slightly at the waist so the two are eye to eye. Undoubtedly, he towers over the dwarf king, but only vertically. </p>
<p>Were they face to face in combat there’s no doubt who would emerge victorious. Mercuriel may have the advantage of elven strength, but Rothgar’s a steadfast Durin, through and through. Already he can see the weaknesses in his would-be opponent. The elf’s fingers for example; long and delicate. Useful for more finicky tasks, but no good for restraining people. For subduing them. His fingers could be the summation of his whole body. </p>
<p>Flexible but fragile. He’d need to be handled delicately, that one. Just the slightest hint of roughness and he’d be so pliable, so- </p>
<p>“Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk.” Mercuriel quirks an eyebrow at him. </p>
<p>There’s no anger or accusation in his voice. He merely seems curious, looking Rothgar up and down as one would a specimen. Granted, he likely hasn’t seen a dwarf in decades, let alone one of royal blood, but Rothgar is not some animal to be gawked at. He’s a king. The last of a once-proud line. Every moment he spends being toyed with by this pompous fool is a moment in which his homeland slips ever further from his grip.  </p>
<p>It’s what he’s desperately trying to remind himself of. Even as his knees start to tremble and his heartbeat picks up in his chest. For Durin’s sake, he’s faced goblins and orcs and a dragon, but a pretty elf is enough to have him shaking like a deer? </p>
<p>Mercuriel steps aside, walking a slow, deliberate circle around the dwarf king. “You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule.” </p>
<p>He comes to a stop behind Rothgar. “The King’s Jewel,” he whispers, voice low and sultry in a way that sends a spark running down Rothgar’s spine, “the Arkenstone.”    </p>
<p>The elf moves closer. Much as he wants to resist, Rothgar can’t bring himself to pull away. Instead he just shivers as Mercuriel trails a finger down the side of his face, carefully tracing the edge of his jawline, as he had done all those years ago.  </p>
<p>“I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I, too, desire.” The thickness in his voice makes it very clear he’s no longer talking merely of business. “White gems… of pure starlight.” He tightens his grip on Rothgar’s chin, tilting it up gently but firmly so the pair are eye to eye. So close Mercuriel’s breath brushes hot over the dwarf king’s lips. “Perhaps we might come to an arrangement?” He murmurs. </p>
<p>Rothgar feels his mouth go dry. “What do you propose?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bedankt voor het lezen 💞</p></blockquote></div></div>
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